Courage, an old Friend

Courage isn’t a kind place. Nor is it a replacement for Fear.

Courage couldn’t help the helpless,

until dear defenseless Fear learns how to steer.

Rather, Courage will hold Fear’s hand and guide her fingers to pointed places.

Fear will latch on, leeched,

but Courage expects no traces.

Fear will act unthunk; Courage will guide her.

For Courage barely sees all, yet Courage is only beside her.

Why is Courage a leader and most of all, the weakened heart’s decider?

You’ll cross bridges of Fear and Courage; they are not broken. 

You are.

And broken is the perfect provider.

For it is in the breaking where Fear makes you,

and the making where Courage says beware too.

How memories held must be desired, kept, unsettling, and left.

Why do you linger, dear Courage?

For you are not the lungs in my breath.

Yet you’re around when Fear is fast, when Fear is a threat.

Loving her as if failure isn’t an option, as if giving up isn’t a somber you’ll let.

Ahh yes, I remember now.

You said something about flowers,

but you didn’t tell me how.

Now Fear, Courage, and flowers are all my mind devours.

I’m not seeking this lesson, this lesson is seeking me.

The flowers always tell me, Fear is for free.

But what about Courage?

Is Courage as courageous as he can be?

Fear finds where Courage guides, as bravery is temporary.

Till bloom and brave tell you so, Fear is always necessary.

About this Poem

I’ve been thinking about fear and how it rules my life. I often correlate it with anxiety. Diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder, my mind is so quick to be fearful.

I think a big part of me feels a lot of shame. Almost subconsciously. The ache in which my art wishes to bloom. You see, I'm standing in front of open doors I wasn't meant to be pushed and shoved through. 

Rather, willingly, I must choose to step into a world of illusion. Fear-am I right? It gets to all of us from thought. Simply, the mind and her courageous thoughts. Her ability, her motivation, and persuasion. She is very convincing. 

But fear is an illusion by perception, and I have somehow aspired to alter that perception. For fear presents itself, as it cannot be undone. As if change would dread every floral thought. 

No. 

Fear doesn’t know any answer. Fear doesn’t know any future.

But I do.